Def Leppard’s debut album, High ‘n’ Dry, was hands-down my all-time favorite during my middle school years. I embrace that without an ounce of embarrassment. In fact, I still spin that record regularly today.
I can see why some might feel uneasy about pairing Def Leppard with the term “favorite.” After all, they eventually became a quintessential hair metal band, paving the way for the sometimes cringeworthy genre of pop-metal. But High ‘n’ Dry predated all that—before they started naming albums after psychological conditions with those pesky ‘-ia’ endings (hello, Pyromania and Hysteria), before the infamous “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” and before drummer Rick Allen faced his life-changing accident yet continued to play. High ‘n’ Dry was pure rock ‘n’ roll, and I was all in.
What captivated me was the volume. My previous playlists were dominated by bands like Journey and Styx, but High ‘n’ Dry was a different beast altogether. Its opening guitar riff was a jolting wake-up call, urging me to rise, grab something heavy, and start smashing things—lyrically, of course. The album was a gateway into a world of musical expression brimming with edge, rawness, and power.
The lyrics were equally shocking to my preteen ears. In the title track, lead vocalist Joe Elliott boasts about his all-day drinking, his whiskey, wine, and woman, proclaiming “this time the lights are going out,” because Saturday night had arrived and he was high. Wow—shouldn’t someone call the authorities? This was no sappy Journey ballad; it felt primal and dangerous. While I didn’t cross any lines playing air guitar and belting out the lyrics, it felt like I could have.
Growing up in New York City meant I had access to incredible concerts—almost every band I admired came through town, but not Def Leppard. During the early to mid-1980s, I would have gladly swapped my Clash, U2, and Replacements tickets for a chance to see them live (yes, I cringe at that admission). Def Leppard was my elusive white whale.
So, it was no surprise that while driving along the scenic 101 this summer near Paso Robles, California, I spotted a billboard announcing Def Leppard would be performing at the California Mid-State Fair the very next night. I nearly swerved off the road, caught in a daydream at the thought of finally fulfilling that middle school desire.
The universe seemed to conspire in my favor. We were already in Paso Robles, and although we planned to return home to the Bay Area the next day, our son was off at sleepaway camp. My wife, a professor, had complete control over her summer agenda, and while I would miss a day of work, I couldn’t think of a better reason to do so (that’s rhetorical, of course).
With our son away, my wife and I found ourselves reliving our pre-parenting days, saying “yes” to spontaneous dinner invites without worrying about babysitters and even catching movies on weeknights. Once I stopped tearing up at the sight of boys walking with their dads, I felt liberated. There was nothing stopping us from indulging in corn dogs, taking a spin on the Ferris wheel, and rocking out with Def Leppard.
But then the next morning arrived, and my excitement faded like cotton candy dissolving on my tongue. Something held me back. Like the iconic scene in Animal House, my Middle School self urged me to seize the moment, while my Adult self reminded me of responsibilities—work, late nights, and the fact that Tesla was the opening act.
While Adult Me made valid points, I wrestled with the feeling that I was sacrificing something I truly wanted. This sentiment is familiar to many fathers; I’ve often attributed my perceived “sacrifices” to parenting. As author Rich Cohen puts it, becoming a parent shifts you from the lead role in your own life story to part of a supporting cast, requiring you to adjust your desires.
However, opting out of the Def Leppard concert wasn’t about sacrificing for fatherhood. The pressure I felt stemmed from adulthood, not parenthood. These days, I need a solid justification for staying up late (and it’s not just because my son wears me out). That was Middle School Me staring wide-eyed at that billboard. Adult Me didn’t want to miss a workout or waste a vacation day just to see a band long past its prime.
In the immediate aftermath, I mourned the loss of my youthful self, but it was liberating to realize that fatherhood isn’t a hindrance. That was just an excuse. The truth is, if I yearn to do something, I still can, regardless of my parenting role. Ultimately, I discovered that seeing Def Leppard simply doesn’t hold the same significance for me anymore.
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In summary, reflecting on my experiences with Def Leppard has taught me that while fatherhood brings changes, it doesn’t have to hold me back. Rather, it’s the challenges of adulthood that redefine what I value and pursue.
Keyphrase: Def Leppard and Fatherhood
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